


Ghosts of Christmas Past

by Svedjik



Category: Original Work
Genre: Horror, World War I, probably awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svedjik/pseuds/Svedjik
Summary: Three years of Hell only makes the men think of one thing: getting home. But what happens when they get there too quickly.





	Ghosts of Christmas Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a while. This is an idea I had that was helped by something my friend said. That being said, this probably sucks and I apologize. Enjoy some World War 1 stuff.

April 9, 1917

Arras, France, The Western Front

 

Creeping towards German the trenches was never something George looked forward to, but it was always something that had to be done if the war was to be over by Christmas. Well, Christmas three years ago. Now, however, George just wanted to get home alive. Waltzing into machine gun fire always made mincemeat of his fellow soldiers, but George always made it through. Maybe it had something to do with his Irish luck, or maybe it was just his uncanny ability to find his way into and back out of trouble. Whatever it was, he’d made it this long and nothing short of a German bullet (or thirty) would keep him from reaching home.

* * *

 

April 17, 1917

 

After going through three years of Hell, nothing could faze the men pouring out of either side of the trenches. Until their officers started disappearing, both side, British and German, thought nothing was amiss, just a few men deserting here and there. But then the howling started, and George, for his part, was always at attention, ready to face this new threat. April in northern France was never fun, always cold and rainy, and the trenches filled with water and mud up to his knees. Having to deal with both the German attacks in his sector of the trench and the mounting disappearances only made George suspect the only way he’d be home by Christmas was in a body bag. What was once a group of thirty men was now down to under half that, and no one had been lost to combat. 12 British Tommies all standing at attention for their de facto leader, George, made for an imposing sight, but not in the face of the unknown force making their number dwindle each night.

* * *

 

April 23, 1917 

 

With no new faces coming in, the remaining Brits held their guard as carefully as possible. No one knew when, or even if the Krauts would launch another attack. Their adversaries had been suspiciously quiet for the past several days, the same force whittling down the Brits presumably whittling down the Germans as well. George, however, had started keeping watch overnight, to make sure his friends weren’t deserting the King’s army. But what he saw was enough to make him wish that were the case. As he was laying down to rest one night, George saw two of his men just up and vanish. One second they were there, the next second, they were dust, collected into vials and placed into the purse of… something. Something tall and hunchbacked, with a mask similar to those George and his men wore, with a black hood and suit. The field guns had been silent for several days, almost a week, and this just confirmed what George had been thinking: this wasn’t an isolated thing, it was happening all over the front. No attack orders, no artillery, no German counterattacks. Nothing. Nothing but silence. George wasn’t stupid, he knew what was probably happening in the rest of the world. These… things… were taking thousands, if not millions of people every night, turning them into dust, and for what? George never wanted to find out. And so, as he watched two of the people who trusted him to get them home safely vanish, his breath strangled with fear and the cold French air, George raised his rifle, the one that had gotten him through three years of Hell, and fired one shot into the night, knowing that his war would end by Christmas.


End file.
